Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first clue something was off was that Ravi Panikkar wasn’t there to grab the morning coffee run.

It wasn’t that anyone at 51 expected the probie to fetch drinks every shift, but he’d taken the unspoken role on himself weeks ago, and it had become routine. Half the crew had their cups halfway to their mouths before they realized nothing was in them.

“Where’s the kid?” Herrmann frowned, looking toward the locker area.

“Maybe he overslept,” Cruz offered, though there was a note of skepticism in his voice. “He’s never late. Annoyingly punctual, actually.”

Casey glanced toward the front doors, where sunlight filtered in over the quiet apparatus bay. No Ravi. “If he’s not here in five, we’re rolling without him.”

“Not like we’ve got a choice,” Mouch muttered. “But if the rookie was gonna take a day off, the least he could do is call.”

Ravi’s absence barely made a dent in the morning’s pace. 51 was already out the door on their first call before most of them had finished their coffee — a car accident on the Kennedy, messy enough to keep everyone busy for an hour. Back at the firehouse, Casey caught himself scanning the street again before heading inside. Still no sign.

By lunchtime, the running jokes had started — about probies bailing, about late nights and bad decisions — but underneath the ribbing was a quiet question no one voiced. This wasn’t like him. He might have been new, still figuring out when to talk and when to listen, but he was never flaky. Ravi hustled harder than anyone, eager to keep up with Severide’s impossible standards and Casey’s calm-but-sharp assessments. Even Herrmann, who’d groused about “babysitting” a kid, admitted once that the rookie had heart.

The day ran long with two more calls and a drill in between. By the time Boden dismissed them for the night, no one had heard a word. No texts. No calls. Phone straight to voicemail.

Second morning in, the jokes were gone. Coffee was quiet, the kind of quiet that made you hyper-aware of the clock. Casey was the one who finally said it: “I’ll swing by his apartment after shift.”

It wasn’t far, a neat little third-floor walk-up on a quiet block. Casey climbed the stairs, listening for the muffled thump of music or a TV. Nothing. The door stood just barely ajar.

“Ravi?” he called, pushing it open.

The place was exactly as Boden had warned new recruits to keep their spaces — tidy, in case anyone from the house stopped by. Keys on the counter. Shoes by the mat. His turnout gear was still in the corner, clean from the last wash. Bed made. No signs of a rushed departure, no overturned furniture, nothing missing. It didn’t look lived in since he’d last left for shift two days ago.

Casey’s stomach sank. He shut the door behind him and pulled out his phone.

By the time Gabby picked up, his voice was sharper than he meant it to be. “It’s Casey. I’m at Ravi’s place. He’s not here. It doesn’t look like he’s been here since the last shift.”

Gabby didn’t waste time with questions. “I’ll call Antonio.”

⸻

Somewhere else in the city, Ravi woke to the faint hum of a space heater.

It was the only sound. The air was damp, heavy with the faint, sour smell of concrete. The light bulb overhead buzzed faintly, throwing a pale circle that didn’t reach the far walls. His wrists ached from the zip ties; his mouth was dry enough that swallowing hurt.

He’d lost track of time after the hood went over his head in the alley behind 51. He’d thought — stupidly, hopefully — that it was a mugging, or maybe someone with a grudge over a call they’d run. But the voice he’d heard, low and deliberate, had said otherwise: “Firemen think they’re heroes. Let’s see how you do without your friends.”

He hadn’t seen the man’s face, just the back of heavy boots disappearing up the basement stairs.

Now, he stared at the narrow rectangle of a door at the top. Locked. Always locked.

Until it wasn’t.

The first time the man came down, he carried a paper plate with a sandwich and a bottle of water. Set them on the floor. Turned to go. And left the door swinging open.

Ravi froze. His pulse roared in his ears. The distance from the corner to the stairs felt both impossibly far and terrifyingly close. He pushed himself up, legs stiff, feet bare against the cold floor.

One step. Two. No sound from above.

He took the stairs fast, heart hammering, half-expecting to see daylight when he hit the top—

—and froze when a shadow moved in the doorway.

The belt came first, a sharp crack across his shoulder that stole his breath. The second caught his ribs, doubling him over. A hand twisted in his hair, yanking him sideways as the leather came down again and again, each strike lighting up a different patch of skin with white-hot pain.

“Thought you could run?” The man’s voice was steady, almost calm. “You stay where you belong.”

By the time Ravi was shoved back through the door, his vision was blurred, every breath catching on a whimper he couldn’t quite swallow. The lock clicked again.

Somewhere above him, footsteps moved away.

And the space heater hummed on.

Chapter Text

Antonio Dawson didn’t need convincing.
The moment Gabby’s voice cracked over the phone, he was already grabbing his coat and badge.

Voight met him halfway to the bullpen. “You’re sure this isn’t just a probie skipping a shift?”

“He’s not that kind of guy,” Antonio said. “No calls, no messages, no contact with anyone since he walked out of Firehouse 51 two nights ago. His gear’s still at home. Keys on the counter. Looks like he never came back.”

Voight studied him for a beat. “Alright. Let’s work it. Kim, Adam — get footage from around the firehouse. Last known movements. Antonio, you and Hailey talk to his coworkers. See if anyone noticed anything.”

⸻

When Antonio and Hailey walked into 51, they caught the tail end of Herrmann’s rant about the coffee being “like dishwater without the rookie around to order it right.” It was the kind of complaint that would normally have gotten a laugh, but it fell flat.

Boden’s office door was already open. He waved them in. Casey and Severide followed.

Antonio got straight to the point. “We need to know if anyone noticed anything different about Ravi that last shift. Any arguments, weird calls, people hanging around the house?”

Casey shook his head. “Nothing stood out. He was just… normal. He’s been putting in the work. Everyone likes him.”

“Mostly,” Severide said with a faint smirk, which faded quickly. “Kid’s still finding his feet, but he’s solid. Not the type to vanish.”

Herrmann popped his head in from the hall. “Hey, I saw him talking to some guy outside the station last week. Didn’t think much of it. Tall, heavy jacket, ballcap. Looked pissed about something.”

Antonio exchanged a look with Hailey. “We’ll need that on record.”

⸻

In the basement, Ravi sat with his back against the wall, every movement reminding him of the welts striping his shoulders and sides. The space heater’s weak warmth barely cut the damp chill.

He’d tried counting hours by the light overhead, but his captor was careful — turning it off for long stretches, making it impossible to track day from night.

When the footsteps came again, Ravi tensed. The door opened, the same boots descending.

This time, instead of food, the man tossed something onto the floor in front of him: a flashlight.

Ravi blinked at it. “Why—”

“You’ll need it,” the man said. “Power’s going out for a while.”

Before Ravi could answer, the bulb overhead went dark. The door shut. The lock clicked.

Silence swallowed the room. He flicked the flashlight on and its narrow beam cut through the black, skittering over the walls — bare concrete, a drain in the floor, no windows.

He knew it was a setup. Knew there was some twisted reason the guy was doing this. But after hours in the dark, the beam started to feel like company. He kept it on until the batteries faded.

When the light died, a voice floated down from the top of the stairs. “Bet you miss your firehouse now.”

Ravi’s throat was raw when he said, “What do you want from me?”

The man chuckled, low and humorless. “You’ll figure it out.”

⸻

At the district, Intelligence pulled the traffic cam footage.

Kim pointed to the screen. “There. Last time he’s on camera is leaving the station after shift. He heads north on foot. No signs of distress.”

Voight’s jaw tightened. “Trace every camera along that route. Look for that guy in the ballcap.”

Hailey said, “If this is someone with a grudge against firefighters, Ravi might not be the only target.”

“Then we move fast,” Voight replied. “And we prepare for the worst.”

⸻

Back at 51, Severide leaned in Casey’s doorway. “You think they’ll find him?”

Casey didn’t look up from the report he wasn’t really reading. “They have to.”

Severide nodded, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. Ravi was the youngest on the floor, the one they were supposed to be watching out for. The idea of him out there alone — or worse — sat like a stone in his gut.

Across the apparatus bay, the probie’s empty locker gaped like a missing tooth.